


The Flower in His Hair

by Bahorizzle



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 07:45:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bahorizzle/pseuds/Bahorizzle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amid the bustling life near Notre Dame, Courfeyrac's confusion leads him to a small flower shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Flower in His Hair

The sun set high over head in the afternoon spring sky. It was a clear day asides from the occasional drifting cloud, that provided momentary shade for the people below. The plaza in front of the Notre Dame Cathedral was bustling with life; business stalls lined the edges of the square near the bridges Petit Pont and Pont du Double, which added other forms of entertainment, particularly for the tourists in the area. In a shady part of the square, there stood a flower stall, simply named Les Fleurs. There was a lone cash register on a stand in the center of the stall, under the shade of a very large, black umbrella. Standing at the register was a woman. She was a sweet woman no more than three and thirty, clad in a white sun dress which was complemented by a bronze floral broach above her left breast. Her hair was up in a bun, under a white, large brimmed hat, decorated with a soft pink ribbon. Her attention was turned to the sound of a bell ringing, ring, ring, ring; it went three times.  
The bell belong to the bike of a very charming young man named, Jean Prouvaire. His bike was purple, with a metal basket attached to the handles; in the basket, there laid freshly pick flowers that he had grown in his personal garden. He greeted her with a toothy smile and they exchanged ’hellos’. Jean, or Jehan, as he liked to be called, tied his bike to a bench near the stall and immediately set his eyes upon a very confused looking man, meandering through the stall’s set up.  
“Excuse me.” He called out to the man, who then looked up in the direction of his voice. Jehan’s heart stopped; a bright red blush covered his face. This man was beautiful, He had dark brown curls which matched the color of his eyes. He donned a plaid shirt, the top buttons undone, revealing some skin that made Jehan bite his lip. Relatively loose black jeans rested on his waits and blue vans tied with red laces finished his outfit.  
How can something so simple look so damn good?

Jehan was trapped in his thoughts, now completely flustered and blushing madly, he lowered his head in an attempt to hide his face, he timidly continued, “I’m Jehan… I work here. I could, um… Help you.”

The man stood there with his mouth open. staring at Jehan, his mind blank. He was mesmerized, Jehan was the definition of innocence and grace. He had long blonde hair in a braid, with a fresh red flower weaved within it. He was wearing a bright yellow jumper, floral pants, which he was pretty sure were actually leggings, and brown boots that went over the ankle with the shoelaces tied in bows. If it was from anyone else’s definition, he would have been dressed poorly, but somehow this managed to take his breath away.

“…Oh! Sorry! Um… I’m Cour-…Courfeyrac. Call me Courf.” He ended with an embarrassed chuckle and forced himself to stop smiling like a psycho. There were no words exchanged for sometime after their introductions, the air about them was awkwardly calming. The silence was broken when Courfeyrac cleared his throat, “I really like the flower in your hair. It’s… pretty.” Jehan’s blush grew even darker than what seemed human possible and Courf’s smile was now plastered onto his face, making his attempt to stop smiling, futile.

Jehan shyly replied, “It’s a chrysanthemum. In the Victorian flower language, it’s a proposition.” Courf almost choked at that remark and his eyes met Jehan’s who was finally looking a his eyes. They were sapphire blue and shined brighter than any gem he’d ever seen. He has freckles on his face that became more visible the more he blushed and Couf never wanted to kiss anyone more than he did in that moment.

“…A proposition for what?”

“I’ll leave that to your imagination.”

Courf’s cheeks literally hurt from smiling at that comment, but he soon noticed that Jehan’s gaze had been focused on the ground.

“So.. Are you looking for a specific type of flower? …For a girl, or…?” Jehan asked hesitantly, not really wanting to hear the answer to his question.

“No girl, no boy… Well not yet, anyway.” He replied, not taking his eyes off the man standing next to him. Courf was dumbstruck, he still couldn’t believe he was real and mindlessly reached for the flower on his right side. He pulled his hand away in a quick jolt; the tip of his right index finger had been cut and the sight of blood made Courf put his finger in his month, trying to stop the bleeding. Jehan wore a worried expression on his face, he looked at Courf, then at the flower, or more specifically, the cactus that cut him.

“Wait right here, I’ll be back.”

Courf watched him walk away. Finger still in his mouth and awkwardly waiting made him feel like the biggest idiot in the world.

Stupid, stupid, stupid me. How did I not see that it was a cactus?

He shook his head and found Jehan returning, he had a slight skip in his step, clearly happy. He was carrying a small leather shoulder bag that looked cheaply made, but the tag stated otherwise. When Jehan had opened the bag, Courf caught sight of two black notebooks inside and watched them intently as Jehan rummaged through the bag, searching for a tiny medical kit he kept at all times. When it was retrieved, Jehan popped the plastic case open and took out a band aid before putting it back in the bag.

“Give me your hand.” He ordered with a soft demanding tone. Courf reluctantly took his finger our of his mouth and held his hand flat, palm up. Jehan carefully wrapped a blue flowered band aid on the wound and Courf couldn’t decide whether it was Jehan’s ridiculously soft hands, or the fact that he had floral band aids, which made him more attractive by the second.

Their eyes met again, making them both look away immediately, hiding their profusely large smiles and red faces. Courf found the strength to speak up, “So I noticed that you’ve got a few notebooks… Do you write?”

“Poetry, mostly.” Jehan’s face lightened up at the answer, his voice practically singing.  
“You write your own poetry? Would it be bad if I asked to hear some?”  
“I would read you my personal favorites, but… Not today.” Jehan teased.  
Courf’s heart was in his throat. This meant there would be a second meeting. Another chance to to inhale his beauty, a chance to memorized the features of his entire being. Without realizing it, he asked, “Would you go out with me?” He caught himself saying it and opened his mouth to issue an apology, before he could he was interrupted.  
“Yes.”  
That word resounded in his ears; it was almost euphoric. He decided that ‘yes’ was the single most gorgeous word in existence.  
“But…” Jehan trailed off and Courf felt a pain in his chest. “I can’t do anything today.”  
He let out a sigh of relief and quietly laughed at himself for believe otherwise, “Trade numbers then?” he asked. Jehan took out a piece of paper and a pen and began writing, biting his lower lip the entire time; Courf watched him and didn’t bother to write his own. When Jehan handed him his number, he became embarassed and attempted to laugh it off. Jehan smiled, it was small and sweet, then simply said, “Just text me later.” Courf was completely flabbergasted, can people really fall in love so fast? He cursed Marius in his head for giving him these ideas.

They eventually said their goodbyes and Courf walked away without the flowers that he originally intended to buy. He unfolded the piece of paper he’d been given; there was his number as promised, along with unfamiliar lines of poetry written in cursive.  
All thy beauties sting my hart,  
N’oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel.  
He signed it with his name followed by a tiny heart. Courf was in love, completely and utterly in love.

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not be planning on making this a series.  
> Probably not though. It doesn't seem like it can go any where.  
> The poetry bit is from Robert Greene's Infida Song.
